Miki loved her three books. The main characters were all different, but she adored each of them and she envied their fascinating, complicated lives. She admired Jane Eyre’s integrity and boldness, Tess’s sweetness, Cathy’s passion for the high moors above Wuthering Heights—just like Miki’s love of the forests. Each heroine possessed certain strengths she respected. They took risks and ventured into the world. They accepted new challenges and succeeded or failed. They loved, made friends, lived: all things Miki longed to do. She yearned for Jane Eyre’s freedom to go to school, then find a job as a teacher. She craved long stimulating conversations like those Jane had with Mr Rochester. She wished she could ask questions and seek answers, form her own opinions and be allowed to disagree. Just like Jane. She wanted to make mistakes, like Tess. She longed to see the world, and meet people, maybe find love as Tess had with Angel. She wanted to feel her emotions as wildly as Cathy—not always have to be careful like she was around Kurt.

She was still thinking about her books when he appeared in his white suit, carrying the plastic box. Several bees clung to his sleeves and Kurt brushed them off before removing the suit. The ute juddered as he hoicked the box onto the tray. Now it was safe for Miki to get out. While Kurt removed his gun from the lock box behind the seat, she slithered out and donned her coat.

‘You carry the rifle,’ he said, shoving it at her.

‘No thanks.’ She shrank away.

His brow furrowed. ‘I need some help, so you can just bloody do it.’

She took the rifle, holding it tentatively as if it might go off. It was heavy, the metal shaft burnished and cold. She hoped Kurt would take it back, but he stuffed gear into his backpack and strode off up the track, so she was forced to follow, gingerly manoeuvring the rifle onto her shoulder. He only shot creatures that damaged the forest, like wallabies that ate the new growth, and lyrebirds, which had been introduced to Tasmania and weren’t supposed to be there. But Miki still hated it. On the farm, he used to shoot rabbits because they chewed on the apple trees. Mother liked rabbit stew, and Miki didn’t mind using them for food, but to simply shoot animals and leave them seemed such a waste.